


Ball and Chain

by Katsitting (Nekositting)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Sex Shop, Crack Treated Seriously, M/M, Manipulation, Secret Identity, Seduction, There is plot in this, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-09
Updated: 2017-11-09
Packaged: 2019-01-31 04:06:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12674088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nekositting/pseuds/Katsitting
Summary: "Well, if you do change your mind. I have something I believe you might be interested in."Harry tried not to blush at the heavy innuendo in Ri-Smith's voice, or the way the man turned his head to shoot him a devious smile.Harry was regretting coming into this shop. He should have just purchased the damn gag gift online and paid extra for one-day delivery.





	Ball and Chain

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ten_of_Diamonds](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ten_of_Diamonds/gifts).



> Well, I remember this idea came to life a month or two ago. Can't recall when. I just thought it would be hilarious and sort of, what if treated seriously? There was surprisingly a lot more plot in this than I anticipated. Sorry about that because trust me, I wanted some PWP myself but it devolved into this lmao.
> 
> These people have to stop giving me these ideas.
> 
> Thank you to Spica for betaing!

Harry stopped, his hands clammy and his brow drenched with sweat as he tried to regulate his breathing. Sure, he could pretend he wasn’t nervous, but Harry knew more than anyone that he was. If his shaking hands weren’t enough of a sign, the dryness in his throat and his own wide-eyed reflection staring back at him through the glass were certainly obvious enough.

Though, why he was putting himself through this for a prank, Harry was still unsure.

The store was harmless looking. Innocuous, really. There was nothing special about its brick exterior. In fact, it was quite hideous in Harry’s opinion. It was nothing compared to the more extravagant edifices on either side of the store, with their tall and brightly-colored walls and their tasteful decorations plastered along their walls.

But neither of those stores contained what Harry was looking for. And that was the whole reason why he was even here in the first place. Though why Harry had decided to visit in person was a whole other matter, and Harry was seriously debating just turning back right then and there and purchasing the gift through the catalog instead. After all, there  _ was  _ a catalog for the sort of things he was intending on purchasing and it made more sense to do that than to actually go into the store.

It was definitely a difficult position he was in. 

_ Don’t be such a coward, Harry, you’ve already come all this way _ , a traitorous thought said as Harry very nearly turned on his heel and apparated away before any of the wizards milling about could notice him. The voice sounded awfully like Malfoy, the seedy and sneering voice enough to straighten Harry’s spine, and urge him to push open the door.

Even if the act went against everything urging him not to.

But Harry would not be cowed by even the imaginary voice of Malfoy of all people. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he let something like this unnerve him, especially when he had survived a bloody war. Something as small as this should not have unnerved him at all. Hell, Harry should be walking through the door of the tiny little shop in Diagon Alley with little reservation. It was  _ just  _ a store, not a death sentence

Though trying to convince himself of that was certainly easier said than done when he was willingly walking into one of the most popular sex shops in all of Wizarding Britain. It also didn’t help that he was the famous Harry Potter, the boy who defeated Voldemort twice.

“Welcome to La Mort Par Plaisir,” a smooth, male voice purred from inside.

Harry felt his cheeks immediately heat, the rich sound unlike Harry had ever heard before. It was a voice that sounded oddly familiar, one that Harry felt almost drawn to despite being sure he had never walked into this store before. But that simply could not be, he wasn’t the most sociable of persons after the war ended.

_ Could I know this person?  _ The question sailed in his mind, but Harry immediately shook it off to turn his attention to where the voice had emanated from. It had come from somewhere behind the front desk sitting right at the entrance, and Harry stepped closer to take in the emerald green of the furnishings and look for the man that had spoken.

There was a doorway just behind the desk, and an open entrance that sparkled with unconcealed magic. It fluctuated and danced, the swirling similar to the mist of a patronus charm.

Harry was immediately riveted by the sight, stepping further into the room and walking towards the entrance way to catch more of the light that shifted from a bright green to a deep crimson hue. It was almost identical to the pair of eyes Harry often saw in his dreams, the rich hue enough to draw a shiver of unease up Harry’s spine as he watched the crimson darken into burgundy, like the eyes of--

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” The words were whispered near Harry’s ear, the breath hot and humid as it fanned against Harry’s neck. Harry jolted, surprise completely overtaking him as he whirled around to find an incredibly beautiful man right at the center of the room.

His dark attire placed him entirely at odds with the deep green of the walls, the monochromatic style of his outfit seeming extreme inside the colorful room. He wore a white button down shirt, the sleeves rolled back to reveal strong, shapely forearms that belied years of hard work. They were similar to Harry’s own forearms after years of throwing himself into dangerous situations during the war.

Harry could not help how they drew in his gaze.

The man, while certainly fit, was rather thin. He was tall, towering above Harry’s own average height by almost a foot. It made Harry pause, his eyes unable to turn away from the spectacle because the last person Harry had met that made him feel so supremely small was buried several feet into the earth.

It had been difficult for the Ministry to allow for Voldemort’s body to buried as it should have. The outcries of Wizards and Witches so loud that Harry, even now, could still hear their wails bellowing into his ears. But it had to be done. It was not in Harry’s nature to let the man’s rotting corpse lie out the way it had; to be some sort of spectacle or specimen for the Unspeakables to poke and prod at.

At the end of the day, regardless of the damage that Voldemort had done, he was still a man. He had fallen to the killing curse, and had crashed to the ground with surprise in his wide, red eyes as all the victims that had fallen before Voldemort’s own wand.

It was ironic, in a way. And certainly punishment enough in Harry’s own opinion, considering the massive ego the man had. It was, after all, Voldemort’s downfall in the first place.

It would make them no better than Voldemort and his Death Eaters to deny him something as simple as a burial. 

Though why staring at a man that looked nothing like Voldemort suddenly reminded him somehow of Voldemort was...odd to say the least. It made Harry pause, suspicion creeping over his senses. His eyes narrowed, unable to stop himself from drinking in the man’s appearance as he cast a paranoid glance up to the man’s face, unsure of what it was that he was looking for, but finding that he could not stop.

Harry’s instincts had never been wrong when it was concerned with Voldemort. He just needed to be sure. 

Seeing Voldemort’s dead body lying out in front of him during the war and then again, when buried deep into the earth, had never quite eliminated the feeling that Voldemort was somehow still alive. Like the man, somehow, had survived even if Harry had seen him fall to his own curse. It was like there was still a piece of him, some aspect of his identity, that had remained. One that refused to be buried. It was ludicrous, really. 

And yet, it had still taken Harry nearly two years to come to terms with the fact that Voldemort was, in fact, dead. And another year to stop seeing him in the faces of those that carried even the merest resemblance to him.

...Although this unknown person looked nothing like the serpentine man, he certainly reminded Harry of Tom Riddle. The strong yet lithe shape of his body was something that Harry could never quite forget. Not after he had spent days upon days staring at Tom Riddle as he manipulated his way into the hearts of students and professors alike.

Harry shifted his gaze up to the man’s face then, and felt his breath nearly catch. He was so similar to Riddle that it was almost uncanny, but there were slight deviations. The kind that only someone that had  _ known _ Tom Riddle would be able to note.

Instead of the pitch black eyes staring back at him and dark, sinful black hair styled perfectly on the crown of his head, this man had vivid blue eyes and long, straight black hair that brushed the top of his shoulders. He looked aristocratic and refined, his nose thin and his lips full and pink.

It felt like Harry was staring at a Tom Riddle from another time, an older version of the man that, instead of delving into the dark and the obscure, had taken a much different path. One that involved working at a sex shop in the middle of Wizarding London.

Harry did not know what to make of this.

“Erm, yes, quite.” Harry cleared his throat awkwardly when the man smiled prettily at him, his eyes glinting with amusement. He looked so much like Tom Riddle that Harry was immediately put on edge, his shoulders tensing up in unease. Harry was sure he looked more like a frightened cat than the chief of the auror department in that instant, but there was no helping it.

It was a silly thing, really. It wouldn’t be the first time that Harry had seen Voldemort in a perfectly innocent man, but he couldn’t stop it if he tried. Harry had certainly gotten better, but there was still a long way to recovery on his end. At least, that was what his mind healer had said.

“Is there anything I can help you with? You look a little lost,” the man said, and Harry tried hard not to flinch at how seductive he sounded. His voice didn’t sound anything like how Tom Riddle or Voldemort had sounded back in the memories. It was too breathy and deep, like velvet rather than the sibilant silk of Voldemort’s own hiss or Tom Riddle's soft drawl.

Harry forced himself to relax when the man raised a questioning brow at him after Harry failed to respond. It was several seconds before Harry recalled his purpose for being in the shop in the first place. Harry wanted to smack himself in the forehead for nearly forgetting, ignoring completely the quizzical look that rippled through the Tom Riddle twin in that second.

_ April Fool’s Day. _

Harry was on a mission. He wasn't there to dillydally and agonize over the almost uncanny similarity between this attendant and Riddle. He needed to get the most sordid and explicit gift for Hermione, and he certainly wasn't going to do it by gawking at this perfect stranger.

Yes, that was essentially what this bloke was. A stranger. He  _ wasn't _ Voldemort.

Harry was here to embarrass Hermione completely. She wasn’t a prude, or anything of the sort, but Harry knew for a fact that what he planned would be more than enough to make even his bookworm of a friend blush furiously. Especially if it was something in front of Ron.

It was the purpose for the trip. The  _ sole  _ reason he was there at all, standing in front of a perfect stranger in the middle of a sex shop. He knew it would be worth it.

Because, knowing Ron well, his best friend would be embarrassed on her behalf as well. Neither of them would be able to look him straight in the eye after something like that. And that, Harry thought, was worth all the discomfort he felt in that moment.

Even if it felt like Harry was purchasing a sex toy from Voldemort, of all people.

With that thought, Harry smiled in spite of his reservations; the man staring curiously at him.

_ Just because he looks like Tom Riddle does not mean that he is Tom Riddle _ , Harry thought determinedly, in spite of the confusion now apparent in the Tom look-alike's face.

"Uh, yeah. I'm sorry about that, I've just never been to a place like this before. It's a little...overwhelming." Harry explained, shoulders slumping with relief when the man's confusion melted away to a look of total understanding. It looked strange coming from someone that resembled Riddle so entirely, and Harry tried not to gape at the humanity he found in those vibrant blue eyes.

Emboldened by the man's look, Harry continued. He didn't want to make it seem he was there for  _ himself _ . Harry doubted he could survive the whole interaction pretending he was shopping for a sex toy he planned to use. The seductive look in the man's face earlier had nearly put him under cardiac arrest. He didn't need any more of that nonsense.

"You see, I am not here for me..." and Harry tried to ignore the disappointed purse of the man's lips at his statement before continuing "Or anything like that, I am trying to get a gift for a prank. You see...she's very straight-laced. Even talk about this sort of stuff makes her redder than her husband's hair. It's almost April Fool's, and I thought, in the spirit of it. I would give her something...you know...from here."

The man was silent for a moment, considering him with his sharp eyes. Harry felt his hands begin to sweat beneath the intense scrutiny, unsure of why this simple gesture made him feel so self-conscious. Was there be something on his face? Was his hair too obnoxious in that moment?

Harry hoped not, and tried in vain to keep himself from fidgeting when the man continued to remain silent.

Harry was just about to speak, when the look-alike suddenly smiled at him. It was a mischievous twist to his lips, the sharp incisors poking from between his lips drawing Harry's attention to the rosy, pink flesh. It made Harry's heart race, his blood rush too quickly to his head.

"I understand. You are not the first to come to my shop with that particular agenda in mind."

Harry felt relief rush through his limbs, his smile seeming less forced now, now that the look-alike was no longer staring him down.

Though, Harry took note of his word choice then.

_ His shop? _

This bloke owned the sex shop? Harry had not expected that at all. He had expected someone more like Madame Pudifoot than him, of all people.

"Y-you own the shop? I have to admit I didn't expect that. I just thought you worked here..." Harry said sheepishly, watching how the man's lips curved into a wide smile before chuckling with amusement.

The laugh was breathy and deep, the sound making the hairs on Harry's arms stand on end from the richness. He could feel it dance along his skin like magic freshly cast, like electricity hanging in humid air before a thunderstorm.

Harry watched the way the man produced something from his pocket, a thin piece of what Harry thought looked like a business card, from his too-tight trousers.

A gesture that Harry wanted to curse to the deepest pits of hell. Harry had not noticed how tight those trousers were, but the simple act of that man pressing his fingers had done it.

_ Get a grip. _

"My card. It has my name and phone number on the front." The man replied smoothly, and Harry grabbed onto the paper as quickly as he could. Avoiding all possible contact with the fingers curved neatly around the embossed card.

Harry ignored the amused glint in the man's eyes, before casting a quick gaze to the card. It was black, the name written in a neat cursive that looked, thankfully, nothing like Tom Riddle's elegant scrawl.

It was certainly pretty, but the dramatic loops in the P's and the T's were blissfully absent.

This wasn't Tom Riddle, and Harry was only just reminded of this fact.

Especially when the man's name was a perfectly normal Wizarding name. One that Harry would certainly have glanced over if the man had not been standing in front of him like a shadow.

_ Timothy Smith. _

Harry did not recall anyone like this being related to Zacharias Smith. Not that Harry was the best person to know these minute things. He may have been chief of the auror department, but anything relating to pureblood relation eluded him. It was a load of hogwash in his opinion.

Though, Harry would still ask. He'd be a poor auror if he did not.

"Any relation to Zacharias Smith? I don't recall him ever mentioning other family."

Ri-Smith shrugged at him then, his amused smile melting away into one of contriteness.

"No, I am afraid I am not that sort of Smith. My parents were American and traveled to England when I was young. There are many Smiths bearing little relation to the pureblood family here."

Harry stared at him, watching for a tell that the man was lying. For a sign or clue that this in fact was Tom Riddle, and not a Timothy Smith.

But the man looked earnest, if not sincere. His accent was impeccable, and coincided with his simple explanation of his background.

Tom Riddle of his past had been a phenomenal actor, but Harry was certain that even  _ he  _ would know when the bloke was lying after years of staring at that face.

Harry knew Riddle, through and through. But this man, with his almost disheveled black hair and his bright, blue eyes, could not be him.

Voldemort was  _ dead. _

"I see, well. I'm Harry, and I would love for you to help me out. I have plenty of time to kill before I am wanted back at the department."

Smith nodded, a smile slowly creeping on his face before gesturing for Harry to move toward the entrance with the strange red and green lights.

It made Harry nervous to turn his back on Smith, but he squashed the uncertainty. Timothy Smith was not Tom Riddle. Voldemort was  _ dead _ . He couldn't be here. Harry had seen him die, and had been there when his body had been buried deep into the ground.

And with that thought, Harry squared his shoulders before stepping through the open doorway and into a massive chamber. The ceiling towered above him, the walls so far apart that the room resembled more a warehouse than a small shop in the middle of Diagon Alley.

It was certainly an impressive show of magic, and Harry could not stop from staring at the hundreds upon hundreds of shelves pressed against the walls. His feet nearly caught on some strangely shaped furniture peppered around the ground floor in his distraction, and Harry took note to mind where he stepped.

The room was  _ huge.  _ And Harry did not know where to look. 

He could see phallic shaped objects of different colors level with his face, and he resisted the urge to touch them. He had never been able to quash the habit he had formed in his youth, and that would definitely get him into trouble in the long run.

Dark objects tended to be nasty if touched, and even if this place was  _ not  _ the home of a possible Death Eater, it would still be stupid to just go around touching things. 

"I didn't think there was so  _ many _ ," Harry said with unconcealed awe as he turned his face away from the shelf to look across the room to the other wall. He couldn't quite discern what those toys were at the other end, the distance too great. But still, Harry's curiosity did not abate.

Sure, he wouldn’t touch things. But that definitely did not mean he couldn’t  _ look _ .

"Indeed. We all have needs, Harry. I strive to ensure that any possible desire is met with my business."

Harry jolted when Smith's voice came from close behind him, a waft of warm air tickling the back of his neck. 

_ Did the man not understand the concept of personal space? _

"Ah, er-I see. You get this much business?" Harry tried not to shiver when Smith hummed behind him, the soft sound making his stomach feel strange. It felt oddly like free falling.

"You'd be surprised just how much the average wizard comes into my shop. I am  _ good  _ at what I do, and I can certainly demonstrate my skills for you, Harry."

Harry swallowed audibly then, not missing the seductive purr in Smith's voice. It could not have been any plainer. Though what Harry was going to do about it, when he was in a room full of toys was still left to be seen.

Harry hadn't planned that far ahead. He hadn’t anticipated being flirted with by the sodding store owner.

"I-I don't think that's necessary, really. I am  _ not  _ here for me," Harry insisted and Smith laughed softly from closely behind him.

It was relief when Smith finally stepped away and walked ahead of him, gesturing with a quick shake of his head for Harry to follow behind him.

Harry pressed his hand to his chest, only just realizing just how fast his heart was beating. He couldn't possibly be this affected by a perfect stranger. Harry knew he was attracted to men, having indulged a few times after Ginny and he had split several years prior.

But never had he felt this...intensely for someone he hadn’t at least gone on several dates with.

Harry followed behind him with his stomach in knots, twisting his body to avoid the myriad of mattresses and chairs arranged on the floor.

"Well, if you _do_ change your mind. I have something I believe you might be interested in."

Harry tried not to blush at the heavy innuendo in Ri-Smith's voice, or the way the man turned his head to shoot him a devious smile.

Harry was regretting coming into this shop. He should have just purchased the damn gag gift online and paid extra for one-day delivery.

"Just came in, and I am certain it was fate that you arrive at my shop right when I received the shipment."

Harry doubted that immensely, but didn't say anything. Though, Harry could not deny that he was curious.. What could the man want to show him that he risked possibly scaring Harry away from the shop?

Harry wanted to know, and it was likely that Smith knew that as well. If his confident strides were any indication.

They walked for several more seconds before they stopped in front of a wooden door at the end. It looked aged, as if it were ready to fall apart at any moment's notice. It was large enough to accommodate even Ri-Smith’s towering height.

Harry didn't know how to feel about it, but he was given little time to voice his concern when Smith suddenly opened the door. The hinges creaked audibly, but Harry did not acknowledge the high-pitched sound. He was focused entirely on what laid inside the small space.

"Oh."

Harry was dumbstruck, staring with wide eyes at the myriad of odd dongs and beady strings hung inside the small closet. Some of them were massive, with a thin tapered end and a wide ball at the very-most end. Some of them were short, with a flat bottom. Some were black, some were the color of pale skin. There were so many that Harry did not know where to look first, overwhelmed by the collection.

Harry could not make sense of what any of these things were. He turned his attention to Smith helplessly, and nearly choked at the heat in the man's eyes.

Smith looked as if he wanted to press Harry into the wall, as if at any moment's notice he'd have those strange objects used on him.

The thought excited him more than he had expected. The effect of the man's blue eyes drinking him in doing nothing for his clammy skin.

...Or the sudden tightness in his trousers.

" _ These _ ..." Smith murmured before reaching into the shelf and pulling a long, bumpy object, "are anal beads. They are made of medical-grade silicone, and have been infused with several potions to...stimulate the anus. It had taken several months for my source to brew the proper potions, but it is done. Here, touch it. I can see that you're curious..."

Harry opened and closed his mouth repeatedly, before removing his arm from where he'd pressed it to his side and reaching for the...anal beads.

Harry could not help glancing up into Smith's face, his hesitation and total ignorance making him feel incredibly awkward then.

"It's alright, it won't bite you. Unless you're into that. I can certainly find something in my shop that will take care of that particular need..."

Harry shot his gaze away from the amused look in Smith's face, muttering a short curse, before taking the beads into his hand.

It was smooth, the material like silk along his fingers as he stared into the object. The tip was a small, round bead. The smallest part of the entire toy. It was about the thickness of his pinkie finger, and it made Harry wonder then just how this was supposed to  _ feel  _ good.

Especially when the beads that followed after seemed to double, if not triple, in size until it was about the size of a cherry.

_ This went into someone's arsehole!? _

Harry felt heat spread from his cheeks to his neck. He opened and closed his mouth as if wanting to speak, but there were no words that readily came to mind in that second.

Harry hadn’t come here to buy something for himself. He was there for Hermione’s prank, and the fact that Smith was suggesting that he touch something like this…

It was absurd. He had specifically told Smith that he had come for a harmless purpose. He was not a client, and there was no bloody way that he would even consider purchasing something like this.

But Harry had yet to let go, and it grew exceedly clear for Harry in that moment that perhaps, he wasn’t as disinterested as he wished he was. Smith was very attractive, and Harry would have to be blind to deny that. It was obvious that he was attracted, especially when he couldn’t keep his bloody composure.

The last time Harry had acted even remotely like this was back when he was a school boy crushing on Cho Chang. And at the time, it had been embarrassing as it was to humiliate himself in front of the girl.

He was not a kid anymore. He was a grown adult and had had several sexual relationships. He wasn’t a virgin, even if he wasn’t the most knowledgeable about the sort of stuff the man was selling in this store. 

“I-er, I think I need to leave. I just remembered that there was something I needed to do at the office that I completely forgot,” Harry said hastily after staring intently at the toy as if it would spring to life at any point and strangle him. It was a terrible idea to have come in the store.

If this man looked like anyone but Tom Riddle’s doppleganger then perhaps he wouldn’t be as unsettled by the whole affair as he was. But this man could be his bloody twin, and the fact that he was this attracted. Well, it made Harry almost sick to his stomach.

It was already bad enough that he had called the real monster himself handsome when he had been young. 

Harry still cringed at that.

“Are you sure? Did you not want to get a gift for your friend? There’s no need to be in such a rush when there is no one else here…” Ri-Smith said, and Harry took in a shuddering breath to stop himself from saying something he might regret.

...Not that he hadn’t already made himself look like a fool. His face still felt like an  _ Incendio  _ had been cast on his face and his trousers felt a little more snug than he remembered them feeling when he first put them on that morning.

“Harry...I can assure you that no one will know you even came at all. Your secrets are  _ safe  _ with me....” Smith murmured softly, and Harry forced his gaze away from the toy to look at the man’s face.

And he felt his stomach lurch when he caught a look of hunger in the man’s gaze, the blue in the man’s eyes nearly eaten away by the black of his pupil. Harry could see the desire, could practically feel it across his skin when Smith’s gaze flickered from his eyes to his lips.

It could have been half a second. The gesture so miniscule that if Harry had not been looking as intently as he was into Smith’s eyes, he would have missed it. But he had  _ seen _ , and it made his blood boil with excitement.

_ Shite,  _ Harry thought in that second, drawn in almost helplessly. 

Harry hardly registered the moment Smith closed the space between them; when his fingers slipped along his back to press a wide palm against him and a warm hand closed around Harry’s hand still clutching onto the anal beads.

“...if you leave here with a toy or two more than what you had anticipated. No one will know but _ me.  _ It can be our little secret…” Ri-Smith said, his voice like dark chocolate melting on a hot tongue. 

Harry closed his eyes, unable to resist the seductive note in the man’s voice any longer. 

Harry sank into the man’s grip, leaning into the heat and the hidden promise in the man’s voice. This would be their secret. Harry did not remember anyone in the busy streets even noticing him slipping inside when he had come in...

They were alone. And Smith said that he wouldn’t tell a soul.

It would be their secret. Just between him and Harry.

Smith looked too much like Riddle, his skin as pale and his hair as rich as the curled locks in the bottled memories. But Voldemort was dead, and there was no one but Harry that could make the connection. There was no one that could see the similarities...or the many differences that existed between Smith and Riddle.

_ Voldemort is dead _ , a voice whispered in Harry’s head. The voice as seductive as the fingers dancing along his spine, and the deep notes in Smith’s words.  _ No one will know...so what if he looks like him… _

Harry felt his resistance snap.

“...Okay, I’ll buy the beads and whatever else you recommend,” Harry groaned, shuddering when Smith’s fingers tightened along the bumps of his spine and fingers. 

It felt like his touch was branding his skin, the heat of it searing through the thin T-shirt he had worn and the bare skin of his hand.

“ _ Good boy _ ,” Smith purred and Harry felt his heart race with the praise. He never thought he would be so delighted by something as innocuous as that, by the pleasure thick in the man’s voice. But Harry was learning new things about himself, and he found that he cared less and less about the similarities between Tom Riddle and Timothy Smith.

It would be their secret, after all. It wasn’t as if Voldemort himself would ever learn about this...attraction.

* * *

It took everything within him not to fuck Harry Potter in that second. The temptation so close that the urge nearly undid him when Harry practically melted against him with just a seductive whisper into his ear.

It was certainly a surprise to see him appear within his store so soon. Never expecting the Boy Who Lived to dare; to seek out a life of excitement when he had seemed so smitten with the Weasley girl. The Prophet had made no mention of Harry dating anyone new. It had been concerning at first, the fact that his sworn enemy had delved inside without reason.

But Voldemort found that his concerns were misplaced. The swift look into his mind had been enough to assuage the concerns that were birthed by the presence of the boy turned man.

Harry was no more aware than the general masses of his survival. He believed him  _ dead _ , his corpse buried beneath the earth and never to be seen again.

But that was where Harry was wrong. It was how everyone was wrong, and now, he would use this denial to his advantage. He would work in the shadows as he did before his sanity had been ravaged, exploiting this time of contentment and peace that had settled in Wizarding Britain.

No one would ever suspect that Lord Voldemort would own a sex shop. That someone was secretly unveiling their secrets based on the trust they placed on him. 

Wizards and witches were foolish. Naive. Slaves to their sexual whims.

And Harry Potter certainly fell into that category. The heat in the boy’s eyes and the growing bulge in the auror’s trousers were near impossible to miss.

It was almost laughable that it was in that very naivety that Voldemort had managed to survive. That it was in the boy’s inability to keep his fingers away from his torn soul in the plane of the dead that had given him the means to escape the world of in-between. An existence that Voldemort still recalled with vivid alacrity even now.

_ Endless white like ash after a bomb.  _

The boy had been his vessel for so long, feeding his fragmented soul from within his body until he tore it from his chest on that fateful day in the Forbidden Forest. 

Voldemort had been  _ foolish _ . But he was no longer lost to the fragmentation of his soul.

He was whole. He was  _ better _ .

He was everything Harry Potter had nurtured in his body since he was an infant and  _ more _ .

It was undeniable that Harry was his, that his murderer was also his savior.

That it was in that very connection that Voldemort found himself unable to resist the call of Harry’s soul, the void, the  _ crack  _ he could sense from Harry’s own body like a siren urging him to make them one. To make them  _ whole. _

Voldemort felt his cock stiffen in his trousers when Harry sank into his embrace, when he granted Voldemort the pleasure of recommending him a toy of his choosing aside from the one he’d already shown Harry. A toy he had never anticipated he would be gifting the boy so soon.

It was perfect. 

It was infuriating how intoxicating Harry’s presence was, but he would not let it derail him from the plan. 

Harry would be his, completely and irrevocably his. He would clip the boys wings, eliminate all possibility of the boy defeating him for a third time. 

And all it would require, all that it would need, would be a simple acceptance from Harry’s behalf. All beginning with one, simple toy from his shop.

“Let me show you the butt plugs. I have heard wonderful things about them from other clients…” Voldemort said, thrilled when Harry shuddered in his arms and his eyes eyes fluttered shut for a moment and then opened to reveal brilliant green eyes. 

Voldemort could see lust swirling in the green, the black of his pupils nearly swallowing the lustrous color with his desire. 

It was exciting. It was addicting. 

And Harry knew  _ nothing. _

Voldemort felt his lips part, a wide grin stretching across his lips at the sight. Not at all missing when Harry slipped his arm over his shoulder, fingers sliding across the collar of his dress shirt. The warmth made his blood sing, the cry of Harry’s fragmented soul growing louder the more they touched.

_ It was like the finest song, like the strings of a violin being plucked before being stroked into a wistful melody. _

“Lead the way,” Harry said, voice hoarse. The boy’s need nearly undid the little control Voldemort maintained on himself, but Voldemort restrained the predatory need curling within. 

_ Even now, your presence threatens to unmake everything. _

There was a plan. There was a purpose for all this. There was a time and a place. Now was simply not the time, even if Voldemort wanted nothing more than to bury himself deeply inside and fill the gaps in the boy’s soul with the edges of his own.

Voldemort chuckled, the sound falling easily from his lips, before separating from Harry and leading him to where the butt plugs waited.

_ Though, it does not mean that I cannot savor the game. _


End file.
